Born to Soar
by Chatlantic
Summary: Alfred is a peasant with no family.  Emil is a prince with too many brothers.  The two of them set out on a journey they didn't know they were going to start.  USUK, HongIce
1. Decadence

per volar sonata

**born to soar**

**CHAPTER ONE**

_I'VE GOT A ROAD AND IT LEADS TO d e c a d e n c e_

A dark figure stole across the land, a navy cloak wrapped around it and flowing behind it like its own shadow – which stretched long behind it as it ran. With a sliver of moon at its zenith above it, the shadows of tall pine trees stretched away from it in neat, orderly rows; a pine-needle-coated carpet leading to its throne. Or, in this case, someone else's.

Its breath billowed after it as it ran, disappearing after a few seconds like the fuse on a firecracker. The figure swerved abruptly to the left, pausing for a moment to catch its breath. Lithe fingers pulled the hood closer around the figure's covered face, visibly shaking in the frigid air. The moonlight made endless ditches in the cloak's creases and bends. It resumed running.

The person – assuming it was one – nearly missed the first marble wall, stumbling as it reached the landing and kept running, eyes peeled, now, so as to avoid doing so again. A few yards ahead came another, and the pattern continued. No footprints were made in the newly-added peat moss of the gardens it was treading through. The person had thought this out well.

It had been hard to tell before, but it was obvious now that this was the right place. Marble columns, white as the moon itself, peaked the last landing and righted a canopy that swung away from a tall, many-leveled building. The building had tall, looming windows in each of its floors; the person counted eight sets of windows. It had several balconies, with intricate-looking railings encasing them. It was not just a home; it was not just an estate: this was a place fit for a king – the King of Frigurd.

The figure pressed itself against the walls of the palace, lungs nearly bursting out of its rib cage. Approaching footsteps made the figure freeze, and whoever it was said something quietly and as a fully-armored guard passed by it, he didn't seem to notice the intruder.

Once the guard had passed, it peered around a corner and a brisk, freezing wind blew past him, blowing his hood away from his face to lie flat against his back. The moonlight illuminated the sneak's face; it was a man, it revealed, with fine, chiseled features, deep, blue eyes, and styled hair only few could have pulled off naturally. A subtle beard caressed his chin. He didn't bother to pull his hood back up.

He muttered something under his breath again and began to pull himself up the side of the wall, unimaginably scaling the side as if it was as easy as walking. Halfway up, he felt a growing tug in his mind, and froze, before calming himself and embraced the shy twinge.

_Francis? Francis,_ Êtes-vous là, François? S'il vou- (1)

Oui,_ I am here, _Mathieu. Francis began to climb again.

_O-oh. That's good to know. Are you, um, almost done? Because you've been away for a long time and I'm still waiting for the package and I mean, it's not like I can't do anything without you it's just that I'm kind of bored and how long is it going to take, what do you have to get anyway and how far-_

Mathieu,_ calm yourself. I will be transporting the… item back soon enough. _Asseoir serrés, chérie. (2) The boy's thoughts relaxed a bit.

D'accord, (3)_ I will be waiting._

When Francis pulled himself over the railing and onto the balcony, he raised his hand towards the doorknob that was connected to decadent French doors – the best kind of doors, of course. "_Ma'mor_," He muttered under his breath; his voice was rich and charming. He wasted no time in stepping forward and opening the door without even a hint of resistance. He looked around carefully and entered the dark room.

Such a magnificent room, he thought to himself, sidling around an amazing canopied bed. His feet sunk a little in the plush maroon carpets. Light snoring caused him to pause and look over the ruffled covers to a face that was illuminated by the moon's rays shooting in sideways from the windows.  
>The boy was a pale white color, and the hair that lay strewn across his face looked silvery as the moonlight hit it; it looked natural, however, so there was no telling what color it truly was. His skin was smooth and his lips had been halted at an unrefined frown. His breathing sent the covers rising and falling.<p>

_If only I had more time, honhon._

Francis left the room quietly, and had only just turned down the hallway when he was met with a couple of guards. They both froze for a second before the two guards ran towards him with swords raised, but Francis whispered a word and a sickening crunch followed by their collapse signified their death. He stepped over them and navigated his way through the castle, making a few close calls but no more unnecessary deaths.

The two knights guarding a magnificent, intricately-locked door were both put to sleep, and with a few more words Francis had opened the door using only his luscious voice. He checked for traps and stepped into the dungeon-like room, lined with jewelry and dresses that no one had or would wear. Francis didn't have a hard time finding what he needed to get; it stood in the middle of the room, on a tall pedestal.

It glowed and glistened with an aura that was unlike what he had seen before, but he kept thinking of the moonlight on the prince's face. It was pure white, with darker, lacy swirls and crossroads underneath the surface. It looked as if it had been covered in a spider's silk thread. He reached up to grab it when a heavy footstep behind him made him turn in panic.

A mace head dug itself into the ground where Francis had been only a second before; he turned quickly and nearly dropped to the floor from the angle of it. Francis staggered to his feet and pulled a slender but steady sword from its sheath and raised it up to stop the mace's swing. His attacker had a dark face behind the armor of his helmet. Francis took a step back as the man tried to strike again with a low grunt.

"Careful, mon chérie! You might dent something precious." Francis cooed, ducking under another swing and driving his sword through a seam of the armor and into the man's flank. The man cursed something in a different language and stumbled backwards before dropping to the ground. Francis muttered something and the man went limp. Voices were softly echoing in the hallways; he was running out of time.

Francis grabbed the object and pulled his cloak away before dropping it into a leather-bound bag he kept close to his person. Then he took off down the hallway, blowing the knights away with a word that cracked their necks and kept them stuck to the floor forevermore. His pace was slowed drastically before; he was running out of energy, and time. In order to complete this job, he had to get out of here quickly. He knew he wouldn't be able to transport the item until he was outside of the walls of the palace, so he ran back through the hallway he had taken, jumping over the bodies he had felled, through the prince's room again, before hurtling through a stained-glass landscape of a princess and a dragon before shooting out into the night and taking off running.

When he was in the cover of the pine trees again he paused, and said a complicated yarn of words while pressing against the familiar feeling of his son's mind before the load in his bag grew lighter.

Francis, shallow of breath but with growing pride that he had completed his work, used his last energy to climb the tree and conceal himself in the pine needles and bark. Soldiers ran around the trees looking for him. He was going over in his head how he might use the money he received for the job when his son touched his mind again; impatient, but trying to cover up.

_Are you done yet?_

Francis's breath caught. A soldier glanced around, having heard it. The soldier brushed it off and ran somewhere else.

_What do you mean, _Mathieu_?_

_Are you done with your job yet, papa? __I'm still waiting._

Que diable voulez-vous dire que vous êtes toujours en attente? Je l'ai juste envoyé! (4)

J-je ne l'avez pas... Etes…Etes-vous sûr qu'il a bien été envoyé? (5)

Dieu putain merde! (6) Où diable est que l'œuf? Gaspillé tout ce temps! Enfoncer Natalya - elle va avoir ma tête putain-(7)

Papa ? _Who is Natalya? Wh-what egg?_

Francis cursed the heavens and everything it watched over; cursed himself, cursed Natalya, cursed his son – no, he took that back – cursed curses, cursed dragons, cursed eggs, cursed thieves, cursed kings.

He let his head fall back on the pine tree, sending a light shower of pine needles down.

* * *

><p><strong>I'VE STARTED A NEW STORY.<strong>

I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or Axis Powers: Hetalia. but I love them so much amg. ;o;

This is more so a prologue than a chapter, but it does start off the story, so...

**TRANSLATIONS**

**1 – Are you there, Francis? + (beginning of 'please')**

**2 – Sit tight, darling.**

**3 – Okay**

**4 – What the hell do you mean you're still waiting? I just sent it!**

**5 – I-I don't have it… Are…Are you sure it has been sent?**

**6 – lol, not translating_ that_. I'm sure you can imagine any kind of angry words he might say.**

**7 – Where is that egg? Wasted all that time! F***ing Natalya – she'll have my f***ing head-**

**DISCLAIMER: 'no _parle francais'_. Please don't kill me for crappy Google translations.**


	2. Something Good

**CHAPTER TWO**

_can I get a PIECE of something good - ? - I'D JUST LIKE A LITTLE_

"Be back before curfew!" A woman called after a herd of kids that had burst from her door moments before. The kids were of various ages; most were five-seven years old, with a few odd younger ones inside. The oldest was a tall boy clad in minimal, dirty clothing with blonde hair the color of golden wheat. He was sixteen. Today was his birth day. His name was Alfred.

Alfred had been at the orphanage since he was eight. He contemplated this as he took no hesitation in breaking apart from the younger children and running towards the marketplace with a smile on his face. Alfred could have left and lived on the streets anytime he wanted, but the caretaker of the orphanage, Amelia Smith, had never had the heart to force him to. So he stayed, even though he got into plenty trouble.

Alfred walked through the busy street, jumping out of the way of chickens and sweaty men pulling carts of vegetables and little girls running past him with joint hands. He was a tall kid, meeting a few grown men with his height and a few really tall ones at shoulder-length; the stray hair atop his head counted, he insisted.

What money he had jangled in his bag. He usually only brought some of it with him when the kids were released to play in case he found something he wanted to eat (which was always) but since it was his birthday, he had decided to bring all of it. He pressed the bag against his hip as he walked, hoping to muffle the noise so no thieves would notice and try and steal it.

"Alfred!"

Said boy looked up at the sound of his friend's voice. He waved to his dark-haired friend, Evan, and ran over to him. Evan plucked something from the stall he was watching and threw it at him. Alfred caught it in his hands and inspected it; it was a green apple. Alfred smiled and held it out for Evan to take, but the lanky boy wouldn't take it.

"Come on," Alfred urged him, grabbing one of Evan's rough, calloused hands and trying to shove it into it, but Evan pulled away and smiled at Alfred.

"No, you have it. It's your birth day, isn't it? I'm sorry it's all I can give-"

Alfred crushed the boy in a hug and then broke apart. He pushed the apple into his bag, laughing. "Haha, thanks."

Evan rubbed his arms. "If you get any bigger, I'm going to need to buy myself a shield." He joked.

"If _you_ get any scrawnier, you mean." Alfred poked him. Evan rolled his eyes and Alfred watched him as he sold a few potatoes to a well-busted woman with three noisy children in tow. The boy had been the fourth-born son in a family of five boys, and every one of them worked every day, either harvesting crops or selling it at the market. Alfred and Evan were around the same height and had the same build, but Alfred knew he was stronger and had heavier bones than Evan. Evan's skin was olive-toned and tanned to match his dark hair, his hands were rough, while everything about Alfred contradicted that. He was pale-skinned, fair-haired, and his skin was soft.

Evan turned back to him, not seeming to notice Alfred's watchful stare. "Any plans today?" He asked, leaning against the wooden stall.

Alfred shrugged. "Not really. I'm going to look around the market today, maybe buy myself something. It'll probably just be another boring day." He pressed his finger on and off of something sticky that was on the wooden cart.

"Sounds extremely fascinating. Good luck with that." Evan sold something else to a passerby, shoving the coins into a knapsack.

"Yeah, I know. Well, I'll see you later, okay?" They said their goodbyes and Alfred carried on down the main street of the marketplace, examining the interesting stalls and the people behind them, also.

At one stall a woman wore long, expensive-looking purple robes, though Alfred knew she was the wife of the man who owned the local pub and that the robes were died often with berry juice. She was trying to sell some fabric that was probably made the same way. Total scam. Alfred avoided making eye-contact with a dark-haired man who had tried to sell him the same goat for the past two months, calling the goat a different name every few days. He ducked under canopies and navigated his way around it…poorly.

Alfred examined many fruits and vegetables and bought himself some jerky at this one cart (and stole some kind of sausage when the man wasn't looking) before he found himself lost. Blast it all, he thought. If only he'd paid attention to where he had been going… Well, there was that lady with the jewelry. And that man who was selling the flour…nope, that's a different man… urgh.

He would have to be back soon, but still he couldn't resist walking off in the other direction when something shiny caught his eye. No… he wasn't ADD. At all. Nope.

Alfred approached the stall, where two men were standing – well, one was leaning up against the stall and was snoring, and the other was watching over the cart of goods with a watchful eye. He was wearing something over his head that hid his hair, and Alfred wasn't sure _what _else. He hadn't seen many people dressed like that, and though it made him a bit anxious, he still approached.

The thing that had caught his eye was nestled in the middle of the cart, amidst a variety of jewelry, boxes, paintings, scrolls, books, and small trinkets made of various stones and metal. He had never seen so many different items, and knew that this was a special cart. The object he was interested in, however, was much bigger than the others, about as large as his head, he reckoned, and it gave off a faint glowing. It was white, and when Alfred looked closer (he had bad eyesight) he could see that it looked like someone had scrawled over it with a quill that was losing its ink. He reached out to touch it.

"Want to buy?"

Alfred started, and looked up with his hand frozen mid-air. The man with the funny head-thing had spoken. Alfred shifted his weight and took back his hand. "Um. What is it?"

"I don't know. Want to buy?" He said again.

"I-…" Alfred looked at it again, with growing curiosity. He felt himself drawn to it, a small tug in his heart and his gut and his mind. He wanted to know more about it, and he wanted to feel it.

"Heracles."

"Excuse me?" Alfred looked up again, confused.

"Heracles." The man said louder, dark gaze fixed on Alfred.

"I'm sorry, I don-"

"What do…you need…Gupta?" The man who had been previously sleeping raised his head and blinked his eyes. His hair was a mess, but he appeared to be normal.

"Want to buy." The first man said – Gupta – and pointed at me. I took a step back.

"Ah, I'm not so sure-"

"You…wanted to buy… this? We…just found that…it's…really…interesting-looking."

Alfred felt the lump of coins in his bag. Did he want to spend them? Finally, he said, "How much do you want for it?" And he took out his coins and started counting the bigger ones.

"For…this?" Heracles put his hand on the object.

"All of it." Gupta said.

Alfred gaped at them. "All of it? But I have at least 70 crowns here!"

"70 crowns? That is…even…lower than…I had expected. Well…if you…really…don't want it…"

Alfred didn't wait for the slow-talking man to finish before outstretching his hands full of gold and copper coins. "Fine! All of it, take it." He felt disgusted with himself.

The men's expressions didn't change; they didn't show delight in having sold the object to the boy, but merely took the money and started counting it. Alfred had no idea how or why he'd ever accepted a deal like that, but as soon as he had picked up the item he immediately felt content with what he had chosen. He thanked the men for their sale and put the oval-shaped object in his bag. It made his bag stick out a bit.

By now it was nearly sun-down. He lifted his hand to the sky and calculated that he should have been back to the orphanage around twenty minutes past. Yay.

Alfred tumbled through the evening tourists and merchants, being pushed around like water sloshing in a disturbed trough, before being spit up by the rush on a familiar, main street.

Twenty five. Thirty. He was so late; he was so_ dead_.

The boy turned a sharp corner, almost running into a lady who was carrying a jug of milk and got splashed with it a bit on his face. He ignored the lady's snappy retort towards him and ran ahead, the orphanage in sight. He burst through the door , not even thinking to wipe off the milk before he came inside. The room was quiet, and dark. A candle burned on a desk. Behind it was Amelia Smith. She looked up when Alfred came in, but didn't seem surprised by his entrance.

She had been waiting for him.

"Where have you been?" She asked in a monotonous voice. Others wouldn't be able to pick any emotion from it, but Alfred knew by his years being here that she was disappointed. And worried, though she was trying to cover it.

"I got lost." He said, pulling off his outdoor cloak.

"Alfred," she sighed heartily, and got to her feet. She crossed the room and took his cloak in her hand, but made no move to put it away. "You can't keep coming back late." She said sternly. "For all I know someone could have stolen you, and if the empire finds out I was unable to take care of you… Ugh. One more time and you-" She broke off and fixed her gaze sternly at his bag. "What's in there?"

Alfred backed away from Amelia. "Nothing."

"Give it to me, Alfred." She demanded, pulling at his strap. He tried to push her away.

"I bought something at the market, that's all!"

"You bought something so big? Let me see it, Alfred! So help me God, I wil-"

Finally he sighed and put his hands out for her to wait a moment. Alfred unwrapped the piece of fabric keeping his bag's flap shut and pulled out the glistening object he had picked up from the merchant's stand. He held it out to show her, but kept a close grip on it.

At first he could see the awe in her eyes, but they became reserved and, he noticed, angry. She glared at him.

"Get out! Get out, now, Alfred!" She snapped.

Alfred was bewildered, and he stepped back again, now against the wall. He hugged the object to his body. "Why?" he gasped.

"I will not have a thief in my home! Get out!" She stepped towards him forcefully and he ducked as she tried to grab his clothes. He shoved the object back into his bag, sidestepping around her with an astonished look on his face.

"Thief? I didn't steal this! I bought it with my own money!"

"And a liar! I've had enough of you, young man! Leave!" She shouted, throwing his cloak at his face. It landed on his head in a flurry and he fought to pull his head from under it, wasting no time afterwards in running out of the house and slamming the door closed before something hit the back of the door. The now-sixteen-year-old hurriedly pulled his cloak over him and got away from the house before staring at it, hurt. How could she just cast him out on the streets like that?

Was he homeless, now? He had no job, nowhere to go, no money to his name. Just a stupid glowing thing that looked like a chicken's egg.

"_Best birthday ever_," He muttered between gritted teeth.

* * *

><p><strong>This is chapter two and a half, btw. Cx I'm not done with the other half and it would be way too long if it was one chapter. enjoy.<strong>

**I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or Axis Powers: Hetalia!**


	3. Off With The Crown

**sorry for the long wait! ;o I just finished tonight so sorry if there's some spelling errors.**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE<strong>

_Your a n t a r c t i c hair, OFF WITH THE C R O W N_

Three young men were gathered around a table with a map sprawled across it. One of them was silent, a towering giant whose shadow crossed a region with tall mountains. The other two argued, one with loud, sharp retorts, and the other with quiet, sarcastic remarks. There were two other men in the room, clearly younger, however, in their rounded features and complete disinterest at the task at hand. They themselves were sprawled opposite each other on lovely maroon couches, both completely engrossed in books. They seemed to be in their own world until a short man ran in and bowed in the presence of these men. The two reading turned to look at him.

"Your majesty," he greeted, and waited to be called upon.

The loudest person in the room turned to the newcomer, spiky blond hair adorned with a crown of glistening gold and gems like ice. It was he whom was addressed. "Speak," he said with a wave of his hand.

The man stood and cleared his throat. "King Mathias, there are visitors here to see you. They say they are from the Kingdom of Doloso, Sire."

The King looked a little surprised. He rubbed his hands together, needing something to do with them. "Visitors? I have received no word of visitors, especially from Doloso." He said.

At the same time, a shorter man next to him put his hands on his hips and turned, an iron cross clipped in his hair reflecting light into the messenger's eyes. "Who would visit _you_?" His voice was menacing, but quiet.

The messenger's frightened gaze flashed to the man, shocked by his words. He stood, stock-still, waiting for the King to get upset and strike him, or to order the bigger fellow to chain him down in the gallows, but instead the King just pouted and a hurt look flashed on his face.

"Aw, come on, Lukas, you don't mean that." He whimpered.

"If you say so, _your all-knowing Majesty."_ The man – Lukas – retorted, and turned away from the King.

King Mathias turned back to the messenger, who was even more so shocked now. Mathias didn't seem to notice. He didn't seem concerned by the visitors. "Show them a room where they can stay in, please, and tell them I will call for them when I can, probably around three. I am busy now, but, of course, my sincerest apologies go to them for my unavailability." He said with another wave of his hand. The messenger bowed again.

"Yes, your majesty." And left.

"You would sound like the bumbling idiot you are if I hadn't taught you what to say, Mathias." Lukas said, before dropping down into a plush, cushioned chair. He crossed his legs and observed the room with a bored look.

"Right you are, Luke." King Mathias said absently, before picking up a quill that had been abandoned on the table and began scribbling with it on a spare piece of parchment. Conversation resumed in the room, and one of the men on the couches began reading again.

But not Emil. No, Emil's attention had been caught at these visitors. Traveling from Doloso to Frigurd was no small feat, so their journey definitely meant news for the five men in the room.

To be honest, they were brothers; brothers by heart more so than blood, as Emil and Lukas were the only blood-brothers out of them. There was Emil, the youngest, at sixteen, then Tino - aged eighteen and the shortest of the bunch - who was still had his nose shoved into his book. In height next was Lukas, who had recently turned twenty. King Mathias was the oldest, at twenty-four - an outrageous age to be king at – though Berwald towered over all of them in height, despite being only twenty-one. They all had their royal titles; Emil, Tino, and Berwald were princes. Lukas was duke, Mathias was King, ruler of all; or so most thought. The brothers knew that Mathias would have run the country into the ground by now had it not been for Lukas.

Anyway, Emil was interested in the visitors. He tried to return to his book but he had lost his place and couldn't be bothered to find it again. The short, but skinny, boy swung his legs around the side of the couch and got up, letting the book fall back onto the couch. He yawned and cast a glance around the unorganized room. Books were sprawled everywhere; on the floor, on desks, on chairs. Maps were lying on the ground, covering up the rugs that adorned the floors. Emil tip-toed around Doloso and almost tripped over the Empire on his way out. He knew the others wouldn't miss him; they probably wouldn't even realize he was gone.

The prince led himself through the castle walls, still terribly bored and without anything to do. He couldn't visit the visitors: the visitors were here to visit him, not the other way around, obviously. One may not just _visit _a _visitor._

So Emil left the palace, slipping out through a side entrance leading to the gardens of Frigurd. He was greeted by crisp air and the smell of rain, and he liked it. He took large steps down the marble stairs, heading for the part of the garden that had not been ravaged by that thief.

It was ludicrous that someone could just break into the royal palace like that. Even more so disturbing was that they had decided to creep in through Emil's room. Not Tino's; not the King's. Emil's. He had been moved to a room deeper into the mansion in case more thieves intruded and decided to not only take their jewels, but the prince's life, also.

Emil turned at one of the marble stairs, following a path inlaid with various stones from the Frigurd region. He walked along patches of cornflower and moss as he made his way to an alder tree. He sat down in the clipped, cold grass beside it and leaned against the bark, something he knew his brothers disliked, but did anyways. So he got dirty. Whatever.

He stared looking at the fabric of his tunic, a royal blue color inlaid with white stitching at the edges. He ran a pale finger over it, feeling its softness, and then looked up at the branches above him. So many times he had told himself that he wasn't cut out for this kind of life. But he didn't know what the outside world was like. He'd grown up behind these castle walls, protected and well-fed, the youngest of these five patch-work brothers.

Emil was growing restless. The young man plucked a frost-covered pebble from the ground and rolled it over in his fingers.

Perhaps these new visitors from Doloso would bring adventure with them.

_Adventure._

The pebble slowly grew heavier in his hand, and became a long sword. He was on his feet and he swung it around, digging it deep into what was not a tree anymore, but a ten-foot giant, ready to kill the prince. He sunk the sword into the giant's leg and it dissipated.

Emil turned around and looked at the mountains surrounding him to the east, purple-painted in the light and rising high past the clouds. He followed the range with his gaze until it faded into plains bathed in golden sunlight. He gave a triumphant yell and then went to raise his sword, when it started creeping up his arm. He looked down at it in shock to see that the sword was transforming into a snake, slithering down his pale arm. It paused and looked at him, before lunging forward with its teeth bare.

Emil awoke with a start, pebble lying flat on his outstretched hand. The sun had sunken from its place in the sky, to nestle in with the faraway mountains of Doloso. He breathed heavily for a few moments before realizing that because of his nap, he had probably missed the meeting with the visitors.

He abandoned the pebble and jumped to his feet, not even bothering to run to the stairs before starting to jump over plants and get to the palace as quick as he could. His fur cape flew behind him, no longer serving its purpose of keeping him warm.

Emil barreled past the guards at the front doors, ramming himself into the entrance to get it to open, nearly falling to his face when they crumbled underneath him. He stumbled while he ran to get his balance back and flew down the hallways, trying to reach the King's visiting hall. The doors were closed, but coats outside of the door told him that maybe he wasn't so late after all!

He ceased running and paused outside the door, panting heavily to try to get his breath back. He smoothed his hair down that had gone flying and waited for his heart rate to lower again. He reached out and placed his hand on the andiron-knob but stopped when voices inside reached him.

"-want to just send him off to a strange place?" That was Mathias…

"…safest for him…" And that was Lukas…but what were they talking about? Emil pulled his hand away from the door and looked around to make sure nobody else was around.

A new voice entered, now. "…too dangerous…Doloso isn't…"

Emil bit his lip and pressed his head closer to the door.

"He's a young boy! Do you…" That was another new voice. An inkling of suspicion started growing in his gut, and wondered if, just maybe, they were talking about him?

"…can't keep him _here_…break in…can't trust…just isn't safe…" Mathias.

Tino started talking now. "Please. What else can we do? They...send away…right to do."

Emil started backing away, horrified with the discussion going on inside. They were talking about him! They were going to send him away! The prince glanced around again and fled the hallway, running to his real room and slamming the door and bolting it shut. He pulled his cloak away from his body. He sat down on his bed and let himself fall onto his back, arms outstretched as he stared up at the sloping canopy of drapes above him.

This was what he knew: There was danger in the land. His brothers were sending him away, and these visitors had come to strike up a bargain with the king. It made sense, he supposed, but he hated this feeling! He was being used, being pushed around to do what the others wanted without regards to his feelings! Had they wanted his opinion they would have sent for him, but instead they had purposely let him sleep.

Emil jumped up and flung open the doors of his armoire, pulling tunics and stockings from the drawers. He left the pile of clothes on the ground and took his bag from a side drawer, before realizing that he'd never be able to carry all of this. Emil let out a loud sigh of frustration and unhooked the belt he was wearing before pulling his tunic up over his head and throwing it to the ground.

He went to a different drawer across his room and pulled on a light chain-metal hauberk, shivering at the cold. He went back to his pile and pulled on a thin white tunic and a maroon coat over that. He changed into a pair of navy blue, almost purple, trousers, and then donned a white pair of boots.

Emil stepped over his clothes on the floor to get his bag and he began shoving stuff into it, not noticing a few silent tears that slipped out of his eyes. Through all of his ruckus he also hadn't noticed the oncoming footsteps. There was a knock at the door and he froze, a hair comb ready to be shoved into the bag in his hand.

"Emil? Are you in there?" It was Lukas, his voice questioning but not very concerned. He spoke very quietly, like always.

"Yeah." He responded pathetically, just glad that his voice was steady. He was feeling less than stable at the moment.

Lukas was silent on the other side. Then: "We're having lamb tonight. Your favorite, right?" His words filled the air.

"Yeah." Emil bit his lip.

"Okay." Lukas said, and then he paused. "See you soon." His retreating footsteps told Emil that his brother had been content with his answer. These were his last words.

Silence was Emil's companion as he gathered the stuff he needed and put it into his bag. It loomed over him as he pulled on thin white leather gloves, and then a navy blue cloak. It choked him when he fastened a belt around his waist. Killed him when he fastened a dagger to his side.

He couldn't risk leaving through his door, so he left his room through the broken silhouette of stained glass that the thief had left him with, and into the open spaces of Frigurd.

* * *

><p><strong>And thus is the entrance for Prince Emil! C; he's pretty cool.<strong>

**thanks for reading! :D (review!)**


	4. My Apologies

**Hey everyone! Thank you for all the views and thank you to those who favourited or reviewed, I appreciate it! C:**

**As I'm sure you've noticed, I haven't updated lately, and, judging by the length of this chapter - no, this isn't one either. I'm really sorry about that! My excuse? I am an extremely lazy person and have a hard time concentrating on one story. Also, the plot I've laid out for this story is really depressing. Like, not emotionally; what's depressing is the number of plot holes and the lack of effort I put into creating it originally. Which is why I'm going to try to remake the plot completely. I don't know if I'll be keeping the previous chapters, I might end up rewriting them, in which case I will let you all know when I do finally update the next chapter. **

**In my long absence, I've also thought up a plot for a different story - and yes! This one is actually pretty well thought out, if I may so so myself! :D However, I'm also worried it might not be unique enough. I have a poll set up about it - please check it out if you're reading this! I would appreciate it greatly. I've only written the prologue and part of the first chapter, so I'd like your opinions on whether I should continue or not. It is Hetalia - a Harry Potter AU! fic. interested? ;3 let me know.**

**Thank you again! If all goes well, I will have some kind of update for you all soon.**

**- Chat, out**


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